


Just Not Feelin' It

by Laineyvb131



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Attempted Sex, Confrontations, F/M, Hurt feelings, Married Life, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life, Unresolved Arguments, married life issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 15:09:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laineyvb131/pseuds/Laineyvb131
Summary: Even the most fulfilling marriages aren’t always in sync. [In which Elizabeth narrates real life in middle age, where couples can sometimes be jerks to each other, and really just not want sex.]





	Just Not Feelin' It

Elizabeth groaned as she shifted in bed, curling into a fetal position around her pillow. Her body just hurt, after several consecutive 18-hour days at the State Department, in extremely uncomfortable chairs, and even more uncomfortable heels. Elizabeth fervently wished she could exude as much authority in Converse as she did in stilettos. The Washington patriarchal system could go to hell. Her shoulder muscles screamed as she moved, calves threatening to cramp with any more effort. Her brain fought through the fog of exhaustion, simultaneously trying to shut back down and focus on the job responsibilities a new day would bring. Elizabeth shuffled again with a sigh, burying her face further into the soft feathers, willing her body to relax and her mind back into oblivion. Suddenly, she felt a warm puff of air on her lower back, followed by an uncomfortable scratching down her ribcage. She rubbed her elbow along her side, trying to alleviate the irritation. The sandpaper dragged down her tricep now, accompanying a wet sensation, like something was licking her arm.

 _What the hell?_ Elizabeth rolled over abruptly, squinting into the sunlight she’d been trying to avoid. And nearly collided with Henry’s face. _Oh. Well, shit.  
_

Henry chuckled as he dodged her movement, then leaned over into his wife’s body, dropping his weight on her shoulder. “Good morning,” Henry murmured against her ear, his tone full of sex. His hand snaked under her folded arm to fondle her breast, finesse hampered at the angle in which they were laying.

Elizabeth grunted, wriggling her body from under his, then cringed at Henry’s attempt at foreplay. “Whattimeisit? Why is the sun up already?” she grumbled.

“Babe, it’s 9am,” Henry replied. He stroked Elizabeth’s hip as she dragged her body against his, misinterpreting her discomfort as an invitation.

“Ugh.” She nudged him back with her shoulder, and flopped into her mound of pillows, pulling the comforter under her chin.

Henry crowded into her back again, under the blankets, tugging aside the neckline of her pajama top to trace his lips on her shoulder. Elizabeth shrugged to dislodge his mouth.

“Tickles?” Henry persisted, assuming she was being playful.

“No, you need to shave,” Elizabeth retorted.

“Oh.” Henry sounded taken aback for a moment, then changed tactics so his fingers trailed down her spine, ghosting along her inner thighs, to her knees, and back up to the curve of her butt. Elizabeth bunched the pillows under her head, trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position. She silently willed Henry to lose interest so she didn’t have to actually turn him down and risk hurting his feelings. Elizabeth didn’t have the capacity to soothe yet another bruised ego. Even Henry’s consideration had limits, usually when he was horny, and they’d not had sex recently. This morning checked both boxes.

Henry mistook Elizabeth’s moan of frustration as encouragement and slid his hand under the waistband of her shorts, over her ass, into her sex.

“Ow.” Elizabeth jerked from the sting of the sudden, unexpected invasion.

“Sorry, babe. I’m sorry. With the noises you were making, I thought you wanted more.” He drew his hand away.

 _Hardly._ “I have a headache, Henry, thanks to China and Russia and their childish antics.” Elizabeth admonished, slightly disgruntled. “I’m not ready. Not even close.”

“That’s okay,” he soothed. “What do you need? I can get…,” Henry’s voice trailed off as he shifted towards his nightstand, where Elizabeth knew he had a bottle of lube.

She threw her arm behind her, flailing wildly, finally gripping a fistful of his shirt to stop him. “I don’t need anything,” she snapped, patience wearing thin. Usually Henry’s intuition was more cognizant of her moods. _Do I really need to explain?_

He paused in confusion, then surmised she wanted his touch instead. Henry rolled back to his wife, shoving his hand down the front of her pajamas. As he brushed the wiry hair between her legs, Elizabeth wrapped her fingers around his wrist, halting his movements.

“Henry, I’ve been asleep for five hours, barely,” she chided, exasperation becoming evident, at least to her ears. “Five of the maybe 20 I’ve gotten all week.”

“I’ll do all the work,” Henry promised, cheekily. “You just have to lay here and relax.

 _Because that will end so well right now._ “I _do_ just want to lay here. I want to sleep.” _Please, just let me sleep.  
_

“Come on, babe. I haven’t seen you all week, and we haven’t been interrupted by The White House this morning.” Henry nearly pleaded, and cradled his erection against her thigh. “Besides, an orgasm will help your headache.”

 _Of course it will._ Elizabeth rolled her eyes but relented, releasing her grip on Henry’s hand. She threw her arms above her head, eyes still closed, and intentionally blew out a breath, then another, willing her body to cooperate. As Henry stroked her, Elizabeth felt herself getting wet, but pleasure didn’t follow. Instead of allowing her arousal to build, her brain remained firmly mired in fatigue and stress.

 _Enough already._ Elizabeth finally surrendered to the inevitable and crossed her legs, effectively stopping his caresses. “Babe, I can’t. Not now,” she complained, unable to hide her annoyance at the set of circumstances.

Henry wrenched his hand away. “Fine,” he huffed, obviously miffed at her rejection. “We’re so rarely _not_ interrupted, I just wanted some time with my wife. Apparently, she has different priorities.”

 _Great. Just what I was afraid would happen._ Elizabeth couldn’t squelch her guilt over her lack of interest in sex, but couldn’t muster the energy to placate him at the moment, either. Neither did she have the adequate coherency to mull over the reason she felt as she did. She’d deal with her apologies- or avoiding a discussion of the situation altogether- later. Elizabeth felt the bed dip, vaguely heard Henry mutter, “I guess I’ll go see if the kids want pancakes”, as he left the room. _You do that._ She was asleep before he closed the door.

* * *

Nearly two hours later, Elizabeth trudged down the stairs, after forcing herself out of bed. Guilt plagued her mind until she couldn’t sleep any longer- remorse both at the state in which Henry left their bed, and at her intrinsic habit to be productive for part of the day. Elizabeth logically knew her regret wasn’t warranted, was almost annoyed at herself, but couldn’t stop the emotion from permeating her thoughts. She wasn’t even quite sure why she felt guilty. Henry’s ego might have been dented, but he’d survive, and his timing couldn’t have been worse. She had no obligation to sex, especially knowing she wouldn’t enjoy herself, but admittedly wanted to connect with her husband in a rare moment together. Mulling over those thoughts, Elizabeth found a quiet kitchen, with Henry reading at the table, but all indications of breakfast cleared away. _Well, then._ She winced to herself. Henry glanced up, then back at his book, barely sparing her any attention.

“Coffee’s still hot,” Henry divulged, hesitantly.

 _Thank God for small miracles._ Elizabeth poured herself a cup of the steaming liquid, shuffling to the refrigerator for cream, fervently searching for leftovers, to no avail. _Damn. He must be pissed._ She doctored her coffee, more cream and sugar than caffeine, urging her brain to wake up and provide a solution to the awkward silence permeating the room. Elizabeth plopped down across from her husband, steeling herself to offer an apology she really wasn’t sure she meant.

“Do you want breakfast or lunch?” Henry asked suddenly, pushing his chair back from the table.

Elizabeth startled at his question, afraid to clarify lest she give the wrong answer. “Either is fine,” she ventured, tentatively, acknowledging his peace offering. _Well, that’s something._ She sighed, careful to muffle the sound. 

“How about an omelet?” Henry opened the refrigerator, grabbing eggs and cheese, before she could reply.

“Sounds perfect,” she agreed with contrived cheerfulness. Henry wouldn’t meet her eyes, and his body language made no secret he was still agitated, with her or the situation, she didn’t know. _Okay, here goes nothing. Might as well tackle the elephant head on._ Elizabeth took a bracing gulp of her coffee. 

“I should’ve said something instead of pushing you away,” she conceded. “I was tired. Am tired. And grumpy,” she amended hastily, as Henry’s posture stiffened. _So I was being a bitch. Maybe._ “But you can’t be offended that I wasn’t in the mood.”

Henry shrugged, staring intently at the stove instead of his wife. “I wasn’t offended,” he replied, unconvincingly. He flipped the omelet with more vehemence than necessary, nearly slopping the eggs out of the pan.

“This is you not being offended?” Elizabeth scoffed. _Please._ “I’ve never been a morning person. You know that,” she pointed out, becoming defensive at Henry’s denial of the obvious tension between them. “You like morning sex. I can’t always keep up.”

“So now I should apologize for wanting my wife?” he challenged, derisively.

 _Why did I feel the need to fix this? Why did I think I should have to fix anything?_ “I never said that. Ever.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. Henry gestured with the spatula as if he empathically disagreed, but Elizabeth cut him off before he could speak again.

 _Stick with diplomacy. You’re good at that, at least._ “We’re both frustrated.” Elizabeth held up both hands, palms facing out, in a conciliatory gesture. “But this argument is going nowhere productive, and that’s not fair to either of us.”

When Henry’s shoulders relaxed slightly, Elizabeth knew he was listening. _Find an olive branch, Elizabeth_ . “I know we haven’t had sex in awhile. For the record, I miss you, too. Adulting sucks.” As if to emphasize her point, Elizabeth’s stomach rumbled loudly, unexpectedly easing the stifling animosity. _Couldn’t have timed that better if I’d tried._

Henry chuckled, wryly, and flipped the omelet again, shaking his head. “Let’s get you fed.” They were quiet as he finished cooking the meal, neither quite willing to apologize, both realizing a shaky compromise might be more realistic than complete resolution of their opinions.

Henry laid the plate in front of Elizabeth on the table. “Maybe we can work on not being interrupted sometime later today?” he suggested hopefully, handing his wife a fork.

 _Alright. Let’s just try again._ “I have coffee and food. With a nap, I’m on board.” She winked. “Maybe even without one.” Elizabeth patted the table next to her, tilting her head in silent invitation as she began to eat. "Or, you could just join me," she offered. Henry smiled, genuinely, this time, as he sat reached for his own coffee. 

**Author's Note:**

> This story was intended as a drabble based on the prompt: ‘for once, Henry & Elizabeth are not being interrupted, but now one of them is not in the mood’. But after Elizabeth went back to sleep, I wasn’t entirely pleased with her blanket feelings of guilt (I have no problem with her bitchiness), so she contemplated the reasons for those emotions (and got her much-needed coffee, of course), and then tried to placate her husband after all. (Whether she should have apologized/tried to rectify the situation- or not- is a completely different discussion.) Apparently, even the Merry McMcCords have unresolved issues in their marriage. Maybe we’ll explore those in another chapter. Maybe we’ll leave them uncomfortably in avoidance mode. I’m contemplating a series in a similar theme:“Elizabeth Tells it Like it Is” has a good ring to it.


End file.
